He pulled keys out of his pocket; I heard them jingle and only then did I fully understand what he was doing with me. There was a black Corvette parked in front of us.
I stopped dead.
He opened the passenger door for me. “Get in.” He was still holding my hand, and he tugged me toward the car.
I glared at him with every ounce of animosity and contempt I could muster. He didn’t blink, and he barely looked at me. Just gave me that blank look again, like he was looking right through me.
I got in, and his hand finally slipped from mine.
He shut the door, and I couldn’t even believe it.
He got me into his car.
And all he had to do was hold my hand.
Shit. I was so pathetic.
“Buckle up,” he said as he slid in. Then he started the car and off we went.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home.”
I huffed angrily. “Why?”
“You don’t belong in that bar.”
“Says you.”
“Says the law.”
“And I’m sure you’re such a law abiding citizen in every way.”
He said nothing.
“In like seven months I’ll be legal anyway.”
Nothing.
“You’re accomplishing nothing here.”
Not one word.
“Ugh. Were you always this boring?”
“Were you always this mouthy?”
“Always.”
Especially when I was drunk.
I glanced at him. He didn’t crack a smile. He didn’t look mad, either. Just… blank.
Or maybe eighty-percent blank, twenty-percent irritated?
“I wasn’t done,” I informed him.
“Done what?”